About ten minutes later, noises erupted outside the door. I tightened my grip on the wooden stick in my hand and instinctively shielded Andre behind me, my nerves visibly taut.

The door unlocked, and firemen—or rather, intruders—barged in. One held a machete, while others brandished baseball bats. They quickly spotted Andre and me hiding in the corner. As soon as the door opened, Andre leaned back against the wall, resting lightly on me. I knew he was deliberately appearing weak to lower their guard, so I played along.

Sure enough, they immediately burst into laughter. “Look at this cripple—completely useless! He can’t even stand without a woman protecting him!” “What a loser,” another sneered.

The leader stared straight at me, then handed his machete to one of his men. “A cripple like you, guarding such a beautiful wife? You probably just stare at her all day. Might as well let me have her.”

As he reached out to grab my arm, Andre stepped forward and punched him square in the face. The blow was swift and clean—I could even hear the sound of the man’s nose breaking. Andre then kicked him to the ground in one fluid motion.

The others were just about to charge at us when the police and security guards arrived. Amid the chaos, my eyes stayed fixed on the man Andre had knocked down. Earlier, I’d noticed something that looked like a gun tucked into his waist. Sure enough, he pulled out the gun and aimed it at Andre.

I didn’t have time to think. My mind went blank, and I acted purely on instinct—throwing myself at Andre to shield him from the potentially fatal shot. I heard the gunshot, and my heartbeat thundered in my ears. But the pain I expected never came. Stunned, I stared at Andre, unable to utter a word.

“Frida… Frida…”

Andre hugged me tightly, his voice trembling. I could hear the fear in his tone. “Frida, thank God you’re okay. If anything had happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

“Andre, are you hurt?” I frantically touched his face, his bloodstained shirt, and tears suddenly began to flow uncontrollably.

“It’s just a scratch, Frida. Don’t be scared, I’m fine…”

“But you’re bleeding, Andre! There’s so much blood!” My sobs grew louder, choking my words.

“It’s only a superficial wound. Don’t cry, sweetheart. Everything’s okay now. Let’s go home, okay? I’ll take you home.”

Andre scooped me up in his arms. His steps were strong and steady, and only then did I begin to relax, allowing myself to lean into his embrace.

Later, on the way back, I learned that the man had fired the shot, but he missed because a police officer had shot him first, causing his aim to falter. Andre explained that everything was part of a plan to lure out the mastermind behind it all. The mastermind turned out to be an elder from the Koch Family, someone who had once been on equal footing with Andre’s grandfather. Andre’s leg injury was also caused by this man. To make them let down their guard, Andre had pretended to be permanently disabled. Now, justice would prevail. With multiple charges against them, those involved would face the full extent of the law. From this moment on, no one in the Koch Family or the company could rival Andre.

I listened quietly, saying nothing, but my hands never stopped tending to his wound. Andre called my name several times before I finally looked up. In his eyes, I saw my reflection and the redness around my own. Andre reached out, gently caressing my cheek.

I pushed his hand away, trembling. “You put yourself in danger. Did you ever think that if they caught you, they would kill you immediately?”

He pulled me into his arms and kissed my face softly. “I’m sorry. My only regret is putting you in harm’s way. I’ll never do it again. No matter what, I’ll consult you first. Okay?”

For some reason, my nose stung, and tears I’d held back started to flow like a river. The gentler his voice, the harder I cried, as if shedding a lifetime’s worth of tears. I clung to his clothes, clutching them so tightly they wrinkled. “Andre…”

“I’m here,” he said.

I called his name over and over, and each time, he patiently responded until I finally fell asleep in his arms.

When I woke up, a warm light glowed by the bedside. Andre sat beside me. “Frida, you’re awake…” I immediately threw myself into his arms. “Are you hungry? Shall I have the food brought in?”

I didn’t answer but looked up at him. “Andre…”

“I saw the photos in the room at the end of the hallway.”

I kissed his chin lightly, my tear-filled eyes brimming with a soft smile. “You’ve liked me for a long time, haven’t you?”

Instincts in danger don’t lie. Andre’s actions showed it. Mine did too. In the past, I’d sensed his love, and the photos confirmed his feelings. But the path of my previous relationship had made me avoid acknowledging it. It wasn’t until today, faced with danger, that I realized how much I would regret not letting him know I felt the same.

Andre leaned down and gave me a long, tender kiss. “Yes,” he said, his eyes full of love. “Frida, I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“But I should’ve been the one to confess first.”

The scent of pine clung to him, warm and reassuring. “Frida, I love you!”

Tears slipped from my eyes as I whispered, “Andre, I love you too.” He gently laid me on the bed, and in the quiet moonlit room, only soft whispers and intertwined breaths remained.

Another year passed, and it was my mother’s death anniversary. Andre and I flew to New York to visit her. In her photo, she smiled at me just as she had in life. I placed flowers and offerings at her grave, telling her everything that had happened in recent months. As dusk fell, we finally left.

At the foot of the hill, we ran into Clint. He looked haggard and defeated. I’d heard the Mars Family had completely given up on him. A drunk and a gambler, he was of no use to them anymore.

“Frida…” He stared at me, taking a few steps forward but stopping abruptly.

“Clint, is there something you want?” I regarded him indifferently, though part of me felt wistful. I remembered how proud and carefree he used to be, surrounded by admirers. Now, no one followed him anymore. His so-called friends had long since disappeared. But he had only himself to blame.

Clint gazed at me, then at Andre, who stood tall and handsome, holding me close. “Frida, can I speak with you alone?”

“No need to go elsewhere. Andre can step aside,” he said.

“He’s my husband. There’s nothing he can’t hear,” I said, gripping Andre’s hand. “Say what you need to say here.”

Clint gave a bitter laugh. “Frida, I thought if I apologized and promised to make amends, you’d come back. I always believed you’d stay by my side forever.” His guilt and regret were genuine—but it was all too late.

“Clint, no one will wait for you forever. Move forward. Stop looking back.”

With that, I turned and left with Andre. As we walked away, Andre chuckled. “Mrs. Andre, your charm is as strong as ever.”

“Of course,” I flipped my hair and winked. “How else did I make you fall for me, head over heels, with no one else in your eyes?”

Andre laughed. “Yes, you bewitched me completely. And even now, I’m still under your charm.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into his embrace. The sun was warm, and a gentle breeze blew past. “Mom,” I thought, “can you see me now? I’m so, so happy.”